Thanksgiving!

It's almost Thanksgiving, and I am Very Excited.  T-day is the one holiday a year that is mine, mine, mine - mainly because traveling to and from NYC is so terrible on those days that I can't even contemplate it, but also because it's the one major non-religious holiday that I can co-opt for my own cooking plans!  I'm not sure how many we're having this year - somewhere between 5 and 7, I think - and I'm already poking at the menu.  Last year, I made this amazing Golden Onion Pie which I loved, but which is just... too much onion even for me.  Like, I had plenty, but most people had a littttle sliver, which makes more sense, and then I had ALL THE LEFTOVERS EVER.  Also, for the amount of work it takes, the payout was decent, but it was still a lot of work.  (Note: making a huge batch of carmelized onions in the crock post SEEMS like it will work, but it really doesn't.)

I also made a Sweet Potato Gratin instead of my usual "sweet potatoes, cream, spices, butter, whiskey, marshmallows" concoction, mostly because I thought it would be more grownup.  Honestly?  It was delicious, but I missed my marshmallows!  And the leftovers weren't nearly as awesome.  So back to the basics this year!  A turkey breast (thank you, BJ's, for having them on sale for $1.99 a pound!), fresh gravy (thank you, America's Test Kitchen, for a kickass recipe!), stuffing from scratch, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, roasted green beans (test run was a MASSIVE success), butternut squash (anyone having dental work that week?  we seem to have a lot of mashed things), and maybe another veg (*cough*brusselssprouts*cough*) if I get up the energy.  And rolls!  And cranberry jelly that is shaped like the can!  And maybe ham, because my roommate's dad is the best dinner guest ever!  And pies!

Anyway, I like thanksgiving.  It's an excuse for me to cook with heavy cream, pounds of butter and a ton of bacon, and everyone just says THANK YOU.

I'm also excited about my PRE-thanksgiving cooking, which will involve Swedish meatballs and lasagna and will feed us in style up to Thursday.  Cooking, man.  When in doubt, stress cook your way out of any situation.

What are you doing for T-day?  Are you doing all the cooking yourself?  Are you bringing a dish somewhere?  Are you not American, so I should shut up about this?  Share some recipes with me!

Let's start our morning with some bigotry, shall we?

This is one of the most disgusting, hateful things I have ever read.  And since I will in NO WAY be signing up for a Marie Claire ANYTHING to leave a comment, I will leave mine here:

I am fat.  I didn't get fat because I am the most disgusting person in the world, though I do like potato chips very, very much.  I got fat because my thyroid is wonky.  I got fat because of genetics.  I got fat because some people are just fat. 

No, I was never a big fan of organized sports.  Yes, I do like butter.  I can point you to about a dozen people I personally know who can say the same thing, and are not fat.  I am fat because I am fat.  I'm done blaming anyone in the world for that, including myself.

I am healthy.  Sure, my allergies act up, and I carry all my tension in my back and hips (as my massage therapist can tell you), but I live in a city where the only real way to get from A to B in a lot of cases is WALKING.  I take the stairs.  I move my body more than a lot of people.  I love plenty of vegetables and eat them regularly.  My cholesterol is fine.  I'm not diabetic.  All those HORRIBLE DISEASES that fat people get blamed for bringing on themselves?  I don't have them. (And if I did, studies linking my fatness to those diseases have been correlative (not causative) when they show any real link at all.)

I've worked really hard to like myself more over past year or so.  And part of that is trying to get past the awful stereotyping that this (horrible) woman at Marie Claire just dumped on the internet, yet again.  No matter how many times she attempts to justify her statements (in comments, never amended to the article itself), she never apologizes or admits that maybe, possibly, someone like me could actually exist without being ashamed to be seen in public. 

Fuck you, lady.  Just like you can't see inside my head to know exactly who I am and what I struggle with and what I DO NOT struggle with and how I'm not the awful person you surmise that I am from the fatness on the outside, I bet if I saw you cross a room I wouldn't know that inside, you are way more disgusting than any of the fat people you condemn.

*

I don't watch Mike and Molly for the exact opposite reason that Maura Kelly does - fat jokes are not funny to me, and this show hasn't found a tone I like yet.  But if they are showing fat people making out?  (Like the adorable and too-quickly-canceled Huge did?)  I might tune in.

I like traditionally hot people on my TV as much as the next guy or gal.  (Have any of you seen the new Hawaii 5-0?  Hot damn.)  But I think the word "traditionally" is key there - plenty of people are hot who we almost never GET to see on our TVs.  The couple in Mike and Molly may be fat, but they are also pretty damn attractive, and variety is the spice of life!

One more note:  If you took Ms. Kelly's article and substituted "gay" for "fat" ("I have a few friends who are gay", or "Those people aren't just gay, they're downright faggy!", or "I'm happy to send you some literature from my church group if you need it") would anyone other than right-wing nutjobs EVER think she was anything but a homophobe and a bigot?  Would Marie Claire have published this piece of hateful trash?  No.  And for a lot of people, being fat is as much of a lifestyle choice as being queer - that is, it is NOT.  It is who they are, and not all that changeable.  And, like queer kids, fat kids (and grownups) spend a lot of time hating themselves for who they are, dealing with a society that demonizes them, and doing really dangerous, self-destructive things to try and force themselves to be someone they are not.

This is an uphill battle folks.  But there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  Skim the article at MC if you want to, but then go check out the comments.  Nearly all of them rip Ms. Kelly a new one, and let her know that we're here, we're fat, and we're not about to put up with uninformed bigoted crap anymore.  Well done, ladies.  Well done.

no words.

Another suicide by a gay teenager, this time one who jumped off the bridge I can see from my street. Tyler Clementi, dead at 18, college freshman.

The whole story is gross and heartbreaking and upsetting, and whether his sexuality was the deciding factor in his suicide or not, it certainly can't be discounted.

Either this is reaching kind of epic proportions, or the media is finally putting the right label on a lot of teen suicides - they weren't suicidal simply because they were bullied (though that is enough).  They killed themselves because they couldn't bear to be who they were, because the world keeps telling gay kids that what they are is shameful, gross, perverted. 

They are none of those things.  They are perfect just the way they are.

Rest in peace Tyler, Seth, Asher, Billy, and all the other kids out there who couldn't see that it gets better.

Man, it really does get better.  Unless your college roommate is Dharun Ravi, who I hope gets the full weight of the law thrown at his FACE.

I just want to hug every queer kid in the world today.

Some days are less awesome than other days.

I feel like I'm failing myself this week - I am in a financially not great place, so whenever I don't bring my lunch (so it is "free"), I am punishing myself by not eating lunch.  Today, it is 4:12pm and I have eaten... a KitKat bar.  In fact, I haven't eaten before 5pm any day this week save Wednesday, when I ate lunch, but no dinner.

And my inner voice is thinking "serves you right" and also "maybe I can drop a few pounds this way", even while my body is really just screaming for a fucking sandwich, or a slice of pizza.  ANYTHING.

My relationship with myself might seem fierce in the good way, but I have bad weeks as often as not.

Next week - three squares a day, for which I will gladly pay (10 points if you know from what movie musical I bastardized that line).

Baby steps, people.

Photo by johnwilliamsphd on flickr.

I do not want to look like a couch!

I am not a Project Runway fan, mostly because my knowledge of and interest in fashion has always been nil.  But I do love me some Tim Gunn.  And now, I love him even more!  From an interview with Perez:

If I were to do a clothing line, it would be for sizes 16 and higher. Because I really believe that those women are truly a neglected population, and when I visit department stores and I go to the shop that’s called “woman,” I am horrified! Horrified by the awful, degrading, disrespectful choices that women have. It is mind boggling. I mean, selecting these gigantic prints, and it’s… I mean, who wants to look like a couch?

AMEN AND HALLELUJAH.  I would buy your clothes in a white-hot second, Mr. Gunn.

Thanks to BDFblog!

Credit where credit is due

So, yesterday I went to the doctor for my annual checkup.  I do this because I am concerned about my health, and because I was raised to be a mild hypochondriac.  I do this because while I know when I feel okay, I also know that I don't know what is going on INSIDE my body and I want to make sure everything is going well.  I do this because a friend of a friend who was in her 30's died last month completely out of the blue, and it was shocking, and I don't ever want to shock the people I love like that.

Here is the deal:

• I want to make sure my heart is healthy.  This means checking my cholesterol, good and bad.
• I want to make sure my thyroid is on track, which means making sure my levels are good, and my meds are working.
• I want to make sure my blood sugar is normal - it always has been, but I don't want to screw around with it, especially with a family history.

Here is what I walked out with:

• A referral to an allergist, because after years of treating me for chronic ear, sinus and chest infections, my doctor thinks this is getting ridiculous.
• A referral to a cool new OB-GYN.
• A flu shot.
• A lecture about weight loss.

Here is what I did NOT walk out with:

• Any credit at all for being a healthy person, regardless of my weight.

I like my doctor.  She is cool and smart and always has time for me.  She is competent.  I believe she truly has my best interest at heart.  And if any of those tests come back with red flags, you can bet your ass that I will work with her on ways to combat any future health risks.  Problem is, she looks at me and thinks my very existence as a fat person is a health risk.  Now, you're thinking, "but hey, she is your doctor, she might know better here."  But this lecture came before her having any evidence in front of her that my weight is affecting my health.  (We'll leave aside arguments about correlation vs causation here, even though those are completely relevant also.)  Her weight loss lecture consisted entirely of "well, I don't like seeing you this heavy, and in the long run it might help you avoid joint issues."

So what she is saying is: I am pretty healthy overall.  She has no idea if there is anything wrong with me, other than hayfever and mild acid reflux (a health issue that plagues friends of mine both fat and thin).  I should put my body through the physical and emotional stress of a weight loss regimen because... just because.  Because she looks at me and sees FAT and her brain translates that to UNHEALTHY.

I would like, for once, to be given some credit for being a generally healthy person who likes walking (even if she hates the gym), enjoys foods (of all sorts, even green), and goes to the doctor regularly.  Setting aside the issue that it's my body, and my business what I do with it, I like to think I DO treat my body with some modicum of respect, and the fact that my outward appearance makes people (including my doctor) assume that I do not is just frustrating as all hell.

You know what they say about people who assume, after all.

Fat and feminism

I feel like this is a point that feminists would mull over–does a body, merely by being a body, signal anything? If my having big boobs tells you nothing about whether I’m a slut, why are you so sure it tells you anything about whether I’ve had too many donuts?

Are we sure we’ve actually given up the desire to scrutinize women’s bodies and tell them what to do with them?

Because these discussions make me feel like some folks need to think more about why they’re so excited to jump into these discussions in order to tell people how unhealthy they are.

Oh, Aunt B.

I think we're going to get along just fine.

Isn't it delightful, indeed.

There are lots of other words people use [to describe larger body types]. Curvy, chubby, stout, voluptuous, zaftig, fluffy, big-boned, thick, and so on. But they don’t really describe my body in a meaningful way when I want to talk about my particular body experience.

...

There are plenty of other words that have been thrown my way over the years. But, for my linguistic energy, fat is still the best thing out there. It’s not a fancy word but I don’t need it to be. It’s one of the first words we learn to read; it’s basic. It’s as basic as “This is my body.” My body is many things. My body is fat.

The objection, of course, is that fat is used as an insult, is used to tear people down. It’s a successful insult because of the cultural perception that fat is bad.

I tell you what, my fat is not bad. It isn’t morally wrong, nor is it poorly behaved. It simply is. I’m not afraid of my fat and so I am not afraid of the word. “You’re fat,” (or, more commonly from trolls, “Your fat”) is a statement of fact, not an insult. Why, yes, yes, I am fat. Isn’t it delightful?

- From the always delightful and amazing Marianne Kirby at The Rotund.


In case you were wondering, I enjoy the word 'zaftig' a lot, but I am, at my core, just plain-old fat. It's not a revelation to say that about myself - I've been calling myself fat for years. What is new is the fact that I am saying it without judging myself. Fat as a descriptive word with no moral weight attached to it - THAT is a revelation.


In related news, I think I am addicted to Alight. Mmmmmm clothes!

I want to be Joy when I grow up.

Ha!  I wrote that whole post yesterday, and then remember that Joy Nash says it all better than I could, while looking fabulous:



If you like that, check out Joy's blog.

Big Girls Shouldn't Cry, especially on the subway.

So, I guess I have to face the fact that my life is NOT BORING.  It's busy and expensive and complicated and amazing and hard, but it is never boring.  So this blog will happen when it happens, and when I have something to share.  Which I do.

I'm reading a book right now - Lessons from the Fat-O-Sphere by Kate Harding and Marianne Kirby - and it's one of those potentially life-changing books.  Like, I'm reading it and thinking "if I can do this, if I can be okay in my own skin, my life might become something else, something better." It's a book about Fat Acceptance, and more than that it's a book about learning how to stop hating yourself, how to stop judging people around you, how to let go of guilt and stop making unattainable promises to yourself.  It's about learning to be critical of medical and media reports about health and body size - who is funding them?  Has something pretty benign been sensationalized? Has there been any fact-checking at all?  (For example - what is the percentage growth in obesity rates among women since 1999?  Answer, according to many medical sources: ZERO.  Bet your Marie Claire cover story on how to lose those extra 10 pounds doesn't let you know that, though.)

Here's a story about me and this book:

I live in New York City.  NYC has a lot of skinny girls in it, at least on TV.  I read on the subway, mainly because I spend a good deal of my time there, and it's easy and fun and keeps me entertained.  (I try not to read books that make me cry, but sometimes, like with this one, I do anyway.)  When I started reading this book, I did that thing that book lovers hate, and folded the paperback cover over so no one could see the cover.  Or I held the book in my lap, so no one would guess what I was reading.  I was ASHAMED to be reading a book about Fat Acceptance.  I was GUILTY, thinking that someone, one of these NYC Beautiful People I see on TV, or hanging out at NYU in the latest H&M clothes that would never fit me, would look at me, standing there in my size 18 glory, and look at the cover of this book, and think to themselves "of course you want to stop dieting, you Fatty Fatson. You just don't have the willpower, you're lazy, you can't do it and you want someone to tell you that you don't have to."  And you know what?  No one was thinking that.  No one gives a good god damn what I read on the subway.  I was the one who thought that.  I was the one who was hating on myself for reading this book in public, where other people could see.  Guess what?  Those other people could see me without the book.  They weren't going to magically look at the cover of a book and then realize I was fat.  I'm fat.  Any sighted person would know that.

About three chapters in, I sort of... stopped folding the cover over.  And when I glanced up, no one was looking.  But I was.  I was seeing all sorts of lovely people of all sorts of sizes and genders and ethnicities all over the place.  And none of them cared about my fat book.  No one was judging me but me, and man.  That was a startling thought.

This book is not crazy.  But sometimes the things it says are radical in their simplicity, like:

• If you want to eat a cookie right now, eat a cookie. If you want a salad for dinner, have a salad.  Listen to your body, eat when you're hungry, stop when you're full.
• There is no such thing as "bad food".  Food is food is food and has no morality attached to it.
• Don't give money to stores that don't deign to carry your size.
• If clothes don't fit right, it's the clothes fault, not yours.
• Don't be friends with people who criticize your weight, or make you feel belittled because of it.

My biggest worry as I tackle the things Kate and Marianne are teaching me is that I am a) going to be accused of using this as an excuse for not being healthy and b) that those people will be right.  I'm not a dieter.  I don't own a scale.  I tend to take a "it's not going to work anyway" attitude about weightloss because I knew it would be hard and probably wouldn't work and I don't like to do things I'm not good at.  That doesn't mean I don't judge myself, and my weight, every day.  That just means that I put up a facade of "Take me as I am", when really I believe that this is all I will ever be, and not in the good way.  I am fat, and that is that, but without the empowerment of "SO WHAT?" that this book is screaming at me.  I'm a woman who believes my body is my own, end of story, and what I do with it is my business.  Somehow, these women have (RADICALLY!) expanded this idea to include what I eat, where I do, what I wear.  I'm fat, SO WHAT?  What does that say about me as a person? 

Answer: Not very much.  It doesn't come close to describing me, or describing ANYONE.  My weight has no morality attached to it.  It doesn't make me lazy or stupid or unmotivated or sexless.  In fact, I am most certainly NONE of those things.  And I would be who I am at whatever weight I was.  Being fat doesn't define me, but it is part of who I am in this society, and if I can find a way to balance that... who boy, look out!

I need to take a long, hard look at myself (not in the mirror, just metaphorically) and know that in order to stop the cycle of "why even bother" that has always existed in my (non-)weight-loss thoughts, I need to know that I SHOULD bother to eat right for me, whatever that means.  I SHOULD bother to find some physical activity that makes me happy.  I SHOULD go dancing and lift weights and eat potato chips when I get the urge or take the night off and watch White Collar because it makes me clap with glee.  I should listen to my body because it's MY BODY and we should be best friends forever.  I should bother because I should love myself enough - not to lose weight, but to be healthy and happy at whatever pants size I may be. 

It's a great book, and an easy read, and a hard thing to really internalize.  I might read it twice.

Then, it's on to Health At Every Size, the foundation of the HAES movement. 

And maybe I'll buy some free weights.  They won't make me thin, but man, they might make me happy.

It's Friday! Have some Hanson/Blues Brothers action!

Thinking 'Bout Somethin'

HANSON | MySpace Music Videos



You're welcome.

I forget that boring and busy aren't mutually exclusive

Somehow, when I started this blog, I had the idea that since I was not going to have the time to do a ton of interesting stuff (read: travel, concerts, creative projects), that my life would be boring.  Hence the name of this blog, and my attempt to find joy in the everyday, the ordinary.  What I miscalculated was how unbelievably busy I would be, even though I was also boring.

I forget that when I am really, really busy my brain tends to shut down all parts that are not needed right then and I tend do just do everything in the order in which they are kicking my ass. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, because it means I get everything done on time even if I am running flat out for a week or two, but it means I am never prepared, mentally, for the next thing.

This week, that means I got through the school work I had due on Tuesday, then took a deep breath and got through the work-work I had due through today, and now I'm looking up and realizing there will be people in my house on Friday and I have not cleaned AT ALL. So I have to do that. And then I will spend the weekend on my class project, and the coming week freaking out about a big event at work and then the following weekend on my choir stuff and more class project stuff.

(Also, I have a root canal in two weeks.  So that is a joy.)

But back to the people part!  This month (actually, this very DAY) marks the four year anniversary of Sarah and I moving in to our apartment.  Which means is five and a half year since I've moved into this building on my quiet street in Washington Heights and became a Real New Yorker.

That is boggling. Four years is the longest Sarah or I have lived in one place since we were both in middle school.  It means this place, with its occasional bug problem and its high ceilings and its utter lack of decent closet space and relative huge square footage is MY HOME.  There are framed things on the wall (thanks to a dear friend) and everything in the kitchen has a place (mostly) and the bathroom quirks barely register anymore.  Somehow it still feels temporary in some way, maybe because in the long run it is - we don't own it, and we never will, and eventually we will move on.

But eventually isn't today or even this year, so I need to deal with the fact that my home is quirky and imperfect and mine, and buy some paint this spring and put my mark on it some more. 

It's almost here!

Sometimes, you just need to be reminded that Spring is just around the corner.

Then, everything else seems doable.

but like a child at home

I've fallen down on the blogging - again! - but I have so much to talk about now!  (The upside to be too busy to blog, I suppose.)

This weekend was my second concert with my choir, and it went off so, so well.  We all felt it, I think, about halfway through the concert, that we were all in this moment together and all feeling the weight and joy and pathos and humor of these songs, and that we had worked so hard to get here, and were so proud!

It was interesting for me to sing for the people who were there to see me.  My mom has obviously been coming to concerts of mine since I was in grade school, but she reminded me that she hadn't seen me sing since I was in a church choir in Arizona, back in 2002.  My best friend from high school was there too, and she has to have sat through a dozen or more of my concerts in the past, but she hadn't heard me sing since college.

I can't believe it had been that long.

I can't believe I didn't have this in my life for so long.

Singing on my own is one thing - it's fun and easy and I can stop for a while when my life gets busy.  But it doesn't have the same overwhelming feeling of belonging that singing in a group brings.  Being part of this group is a real commitment - a hard one, now that I am working full time and also back in school.  But the three hours a week I spend with these people is spiritually transformative, and gives me something I've been missing for a long, long time.  We're not anything other than forty people who happen to enjoy music, but when you put us all together, we are so much more than the sum of our parts.

There will be more concerts in my future, and I hope you'll be able to join me for one of them.  I'm not tooting my own horn here when I say you won't be disappointed.  It's a wonderful group led by a truly gifted and giving music conductor.  (If you want to hear some sample songs by the choir, or join the mailing list in case I get lame and don't email people about a show, visit the Manhattan Choral Ensemble website.)

*

In other, much more mundane realizations, I have somehow stopped going to movies.  I love movies, a lot, and some of them have transformed me almost as much as music does.  I don't really have anyone in NYC to go to movies with, and I've fallen out of the habit.  Now that I get student tickets again, I should make that another of my resolutions - a movie a month! - but seeing as the Netflix film I got in December is still on my coffee table?  I'm not holding out much hope.  *sigh*

I do want to see The Hurt Locker, though.  It looks stunning.

Hey, Hey, Hey, It's...

I keep putting things here that I didn't think I'd put here, but this caught my eye today, and it really hit me hard.  Michelle Obama is starting a campaign to fight childhood obesity:

Childhood Schmobesity

These are all laudable goals in and of themselves, but it’s a terrible mistake to pursue them  in the name of getting rid of fat kids. First, numerous studies indicate that, just as with adults, improving children’s nutrition and activity levels is beneficial to their health, but usually produces little or no weight loss (which is all the more reason to focus on health rather than weight). Nor are thin children in any less need of good food and healthy activities than fat ones. Indeed, over the past 20 years, extensive research has demonstrated that, when studies control for factors such as physical activity levels, weight simply ceases to have any meaningful correlation with health. 

Second, a rich literature on stigmatization shows that the health costs of social stigma are high. I don’t believe Michelle Obama wants to stigmatize fat kids, but a campaign dedicated to eliminating them is guaranteed to do so in a profound way.

I'm not a skinny girl.  The last time I was thin, I think I was six.  There are a lot of reasons for it, and a lot of the blame can (and should) be placed on me.  But I was made uncomfortable by news of this latest crusade against fat kids, and this article pinpointed the reason why.

Sure, I'm all for getting kids moving, teaching them nutrition, getting them healthy.  Type 2 Diabetes is up in kids, heart disease still kills more people in this country than we can count, and obesity has been tangentially linked (correlation, not causation) to many health issues.  But healthy may or may not equal thin.  Thin is dangerous, both for the kids who strive to be thin so badly they end up with eating disorders, and for the kids who are healthy kids who might even play soccer on the side and enjoy their veggies, but for whom (for any number of reasons) they will always tip a little heavier on the BMI scale.

Maybe I am carrying years of metaphoric weight from a culture based around looking thinner and thinner, or from school years where I felt marginalized for my size, but seeing the first lady telling chubby kids it's not okay to be what they are makes me sad in a deep, kind of profound way.

Girls day out!

It's sometimes scary to remember that I have a friend who has known me since I was EIGHT and that she will always know me better than most people, no matter what I do to my hair, or how cool I try to pretend to be.  But mostly it's amazing.

Today, she is finally coming to visit me, and she is bringing her amazing, brilliant, hilarious little girl who is now... EIGHT.  This is a weird year for us!

I've never explored NYC with an eight-year-old, but luckily this one comes with plenty of opinions on what she wants to do, and I come with free admission to most museums in town.  Next time, we'll do a show, but this time, we'll just soak it all in.

Maybe we'll catch a movie...

She keeps a light on

Sometimes, music is the cure to what ails you.

I've been sick this week - sicker than I've been in years - but here I sit at my desk, ready to head off to sing (croak?) some beautiful choral music with my group, listening to Matt Morris sing in my headphones.  I am certainly not going to use this blog to post about most of the music and movies I enjoy (though I will say I had a kickass time at the Motion City Soundtrack show last night).  But Matt's music actually makes me feel better, so I thought I'd share this with you all. 

It's a song about staying strong and staying true to who you are and pushing through when the world is against you.  It's gorgeous, and if you ever have a chance to hear him sing it live, I encourage you to do so.  It will give you chills.



I have a backpack full of school books, an inbox full of work, a head full of notes to memorize and heart full of this song.   It's going to be an okay day!

A place for everything...

After a busy holiday season, I fell headfirst into a January that was both busy and grey, and lost all momentum in my blogging.  *sigh*

Life is kicking into high gear, and I'm trying more than ever to get into a good, solid routine.  I started a workout regimen with some online friends but lost my way about a week in.  Here's hoping my February redux takes hold a little better.

The big news of the month so far is my acceptance to graduate school, and the frantic realization that I am starting in TWO WEEKS.  I have so much to do before then, not the least of which is register for classes!  Thank goodness my mother has every important paper I'll ever need at her fingertips, or I might have been frozen out of the semester without proof of immunization.  That is a big deal at CUNY, it seems.  Financial aid is the other thing up in the air, but I'll know more about that after my talk with the financial aid office tomorrow.  Fingers crossed that I'm not too late for a loan!

The other exciting news is that organization seems to have taken hold in my apartment!  Trips to IKEA are a dangerous thing, but I managed to leave with only what I went for - a large, dark wood bookcase that would fit all my DVDs and a lot of overflow books.  I also took the opportunity to take my forlorn electric guitar out of its travel case and set it on display.  Here's hoping that it ends up guilting me into practice twice a week.  (Please note: the Rock Band drum set is more likely to catch our attention.  Not that there is anything wrong with that!  But I would like to master, or at least become proficient in, one real musical instrument.)

Sarah and I spent this afternoon putting together her purchase - a lovely dresser with a mirror attached - and we're both having bouts of early spring cleaning, tossing everything we haven't touched in years and pulling old clothes out of the closets for the giveaway pile.

February is going to be a pretty intense month for me, but I'm hoping to put in place some serious structure to keep me on track.  Working out, classes, studying, choral rehearsals, practicing my guitar, prepping one (sometimes two) meals a day to eat on the go - all of it will test my natural penchant for stillness and liassez-faire attitude.  Keep me in your thoughts, and don't be afraid to ask me how it's going.  I need your positive reinforcement as much as my own!